The two of them clashed blades as if a kitchen cleaver and an army knife were built for clashing. Rebecca managed to avoid each swipe or lunge that the girl made, a kind of accuracy that only fearful adrenaline could fuel. She failed to dodge but one, an upward swing near her right side that nicked her arm and her cheek. For her trouble, she almost accidentally got a decent-sized stab to the girl’s right torso.
The girl grunted, taking a couple steps backward to admire the cut. “You are good.”
“And you are crazy.”
The girl brought her free hand to her side and pressed down against the cut, smirking. “The swan chose someone who can fight. Someone who’s willing to draw blood. It’s almost as if destiny is no fool.”
“I wonder if destiny wants me to slit your throat or not.”